3sixty5:1

I've decided to chronicle my first year living in NYC by participating in 365...a daily photo project. The idea is simple--one picture a day for a year. I'll take more, and I might even post more. But I do plan to post my 365 project photos here.


My apartment building in the early morning light.

Big Yellow

It could be a play, one where the script changes every night, but the themes and lessons remain the same.

The Setting: The living room of a big, yellow, Victorian house in a quintessential New England college town. There are comfortable couches and wooden rocking chairs, family pictures and well-loved instruments tucked in the corners. Snacks are waiting on the table and tea is in the cupboard. It feels like home from the moment you arrive.

The Soundtrack: The tapping of laptop keys, the heavy thud of small feet, joyful squeals of delight, and the occasional wail...the hum of acoustic guitars bouncing off the bathroom walls, the stomp of a foot keeping time, the scratch of the pen against paper...the stroke of the hour, the occasional siren...lots of laughter and a few tears.

The Characters: A rotating cast of poets, songwriters, memoirists, and bloggers...all storytellers who create worlds and bring them to life.

The Story: There is a refrain in the great baseball movie Field of Dreams.

If you build it, he will come.

It started with the house and a vision. And so the house's residents (first only one, then two--plus dog, then three, and finally four--plus dog again) created the space. She built it and they came--the writers. The house fills up on various weeknights, and sometimes for whole weekends full of time. Time for the people to tell stories and share pieces of themselves. Time to build and maintain friendships and community. Time to heal deep wounds. There are stories of love and of loss, of the struggle to find oneself and of losing everything. Stories about coming of age, and stories of dragons and vampires.

Some of these storytellers come season after season, while others come and go. But each of them join the whispers in the walls and the muses in the shadows. They provide the inspiration and the encouragement for those who come next.

3-0

I know I'm a few days behind on Look Up, but tonight, I want to Look Out and Look Around. Tomorrow, I turn 30. Age is really just a number to me, so 30 isn't causing the earth to shift beneath my feet or my inner equilibrium to tremble. 30 doesn't sound all that different from 29 and I suspect it won't feel much different either. Something about the "milestone" is causing me to look back though.

My 20s are almost over--and while I stand here looking back at them as a whole and happy person, there were times when that didn't seem possible. I don't remember turning 20--even then, "milestones" must not have meant much. I know I was in college. I know I was happy. I know I trusted in where I was. I moved to California shortly after I turned 22 and all of that change. Sometimes, those years feel like a blur--and I know that I suffered the quintessential quarter-life crisis. I didn't like where I was and I didn't trust where I was going.

***

This weekend, I spent time in one of my favorite towns, in one of my favorite houses, with some of my favorite people--two of whom are under 3 feet tall. For the last year, my most frequent question for the almost-3 year old is, "Lila, who's my favorite two year old in the whole world?" She grins, balls her hand into a thumbs-up position, and jabs her thumb into her chest. We were in the kitchen on Saturday when she said, "Hey Kris! Who's my favorite two year old in the whole world?"

"I don't know. Who?"

She grinned at me, scrunched up her face and pointed at me.

The next morning, I sat on the front porch with her little brother, wrapped in a fleece blanket against the cool April breeze. We watched the cars, waved to the people and dogs who walked by, and sang endless verses of Peter Paul and Mary's "Car-Car." I soaked in the moment, grateful for and aware of the happiness and peace that I took for granted when I entered my 20s. My years in California were hard, but they gave me such a gift. I'm more present for the good things in life, and for the people who fill my life.

***

I'm not sure what my 30s will bring, but I enter them more comfortable (OK, more comfortable-ish) with the uncertainty and more confident that I can handle whatever comes my way. And I still say age is just a number. After all, I'm somebody's favorite 2 year old in the whole world.

Look Up 4/16

And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood

Look Up

Jury Duty, Worcester County Courthouse

Look Up

Birds on a Wire

Look Up Series

I had my wisdom teeth out last Thursday, then went home for Easter. So here are the "make-up" photos.

Look Up 4/9--Springing

Look Up 4/10--O'Kane Hall

Look Up 4/11 (Princeton, NJ)

Look Up 4/12 (OK, this is cheating, a little. But *he* is looking up! This is my brother's best friend, just home from almost a year in Chile.)

Look Up 4/13--Atop the Hotel Northampton

"Spring"

Spring in New England: Rain fell from the sky today. So did snow. It was cloudy. It was sunny. It was cold. Spring needs to make up her mind.

Look Up

Stars and Stripes

In evening light

Welcome to Holy Cross

Look up...

Look Up 4/5

At my apartment...

Look Up...

...and see fake spring at the Natick Mall.

Forgive me...

...I won't apron-wring. But it rained ALL DAY today.

Here's the very old pressed tin ceiling in my office...and the sprinkler system.

Look Up...

...and see the blue sky.

Look Up

Inspired by an artistic friend and a creative "stranger," I've decided to post a photo every day in April. All too often, we look down. We see our feet and the asphalt. We see dirt. So let's look up this spring. You never know what you'll see.

A bit of green...

I have a few actual posts that I've been meaning to make, and I hope to get to them later this week. But for tonight, a bit o' the green...

Edamame

Blanket

FRFF ticket

Ice cream (yum!)

Soaps

Sweater

Pen

O'bama sticker



While I love St. Patrick's Day, there's also a little bit of sadness on 3/17. 8 years ago today, my friend Tim's twin brother was killed in a car accident. He and 4 friends were heading to New Orleans on their spring break to volunteer at a school. Chris and 2 of his friends were killed in that accident by a 25-year old kid, driving drunk on the wrong side of the highway. At Chris' wake, I took a copy of his "Statement of Life Aspirations" which he had written in high school. It's still tacked to my bulletin board at work. Chris articulated my own heart much more clearly than I ever could.

"to touch the life of a person, to help them see the world in a better light, to enable them to live a fuller, more productive life; i would like to do something like this. i am searching for a profession that will enable me to inspire, to help, to enlighten, to leave my mark on the human race. i will live a full and vibrant life, doing whatever i see fit, not conforming, not rejecting...my life will belong to me and it will be great not for the fame and fortune i receive, but for the lives i help change an the happiness i achieve."

~christopher a. hoppe (may 4, 1981-march 17, 2001)

on our way home

Another fabulous, fun, special, sacred weekend in that big, warm, cozy, yellow house. I laughed til it hurt, I sang and I danced, and I even cried a little. And oh yeah, I changed a lot of diapers--some more successfully than others!

Friday night, I arrived a little early, greeted Nerissa and headed upstairs to relieve Erica. I took the kids and we headed downstairs to wait for the writers. I had reminded L about all of our friends, naming each of them for her. When we got downstairs, I asked her if she remembered who was coming..."who's coming?" she replied. "Is Bill coming?" "Yes." "Is Lora coming?" "Yes." "Is Fred coming?" "Yes!" "He is?! Who's Fred?" High pitched giggles followed and she ran laps around the downstairs shrieking "Fred's coming! Fred is coming!!" J just watched and smiled big. Lora arrived, followed by all of our other friends. L got a little shy, so Mike took Mr. J and I snuggled L. Ashley and Melissa came to say hello..."meow!" L took on her cat persona, and because they are wonderful, our friends played along. She warmed up pretty quickly and soon, she was yelling across the room and calling them names. Reluctant to eat her own dinner, L got very excited about my rice and green beans. Hey, as long as she eats, right?

When the writers began their work, Tom and I headed upstairs with the kids. I read L a book and we cuddled a little bit before Tom and I switched off and I headed to try to put J down for the night. We read a book and I softly began to sing to him...he didn't so much love when I put him in the crib, but I stayed close and he held my thumb in his little hand while I sang another round of "Molly the Donkey." He protested when I left the room (still singing), but by the time I closed the door to the stairs, he was off in dreamland. Tom helped me in the kitchen for a while...then it was off to Packard's.

We insisted on the library room, agreeing to pass drinks if the room felt too crowded. Every corner split off into its own conversation, but there was a general feeling of community in that room. Snow fell outside the window while we ate gross (but delicious) food, drank everything from virgin bloody marys to 007s, and laughed loudly and often.

Saturday was a blur of diaper changes, guitar strums, endless rounds of "We're Off to See the Wizard!" (complete with dancing), food, friends, and a long car ride on which L and I "hootenanny boogied." A fairly competitive game of Ataturk ended our night together (Lora and Tracie proved to be a dynamic duo), but we dragged Bill back to our hotel for drinks and guitar.

Sunday morning came too quickly...the writers wrote and sang while I cuddled and sang and danced and rolled with J upstairs. Tom and L returned in time for a rendition of "Enough Said," which I sang with a girl in my lap and tears in my eyes. After a few rounds of "Pig Pile on L" (possibly my favorite moment of the weekend occurred when L looked at me and whispered, "Kwis, do you think Beel wants to play pig pile on me?), we took some group photos--which came out great for once--and headed for our last traditional haunt. (But not before L and I said goodbye--"I love you, Fingers!" I called to her. "I love you, Feet!" she replied with a grin.) Tokyo and Taipei was our last stop and we squeezed another hour out of our time together. I'd never been so grateful for carpooling, as Tracie, Nichole and I extended that retreat feeling just a *little* bit longer as we drove back to the Woo.

I don't want to forget the feeling that accompanies this weekend, the magic and electricity that fills the room when we are all sitting together eating dinner or listening to a song. I am so grateful for all the little moments that add up to a big memory--dishes in the kitchen with Tom, cuddling up with L & J to read a story, a quiet conversation in the corner at Packard's with Melissa, late night lyrics-on-the-fly with Bill and Tracie, me frozen at the top of the stairs with J in my arms listening to Bill's beautiful story, last minute alcohol runs with Tracie to the "package store" that sells individual bottles of beer, watching closely as L sings every word of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" with Tracie, Teresa presenting L & N with Polly the Monkey, the Brewery waitress who never wrote anything down and brought all the right things, looking around the room at dinnertime and seeing everyone so engaged and happy...

In 3 short years, we've become our own little family.

Thumbs Up

Thumbs up, indeed, Miss Sasha. Your daddy did good today.

"For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.

For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.

For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sahn.

Time and again these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.

...

As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals.

...

To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.

...

For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job, which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends -- hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism -- these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility -- a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

This is the price and the promise of citizenship."

I watched the Inauguration in the pub on the ground floor of our campus center. Hundreds of students sat with faculty members, administrators, and coaches. There was chatter as Vice President Biden took the Oath of Office, but when CNN quietly announced that regardless of the fact he had not yet taken his own oath, because it was past noon, Barack Obama was officially President of the United States, a roar erupted in the room. Everyone fell quiet as the Chief Justice and the Obamas were called forward, and while there was a giggle when the Chief Justice flubbed his lines, you could hear a pin drop in the room. "So help me God..." and the room exploded again with cheers and applause and laughter. Silence fell for the inaugural address, which everyone knew was partially penned by our fellow Crusader, Jon Favreau. You've never seen college kids so quiet!

The crowd in Washington was awe-inspiring as well. Seeing all of those people together, some crying, some smiling so big their faces may be frozen that way tonight, reminded me of a song my kids used to sing for Black History Month. We saw it today. Yes, We Can.

Lift every voice and sing,
'Til earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on 'til victory is won.

God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who has brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who has by Thy might
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
Lest, our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand,
True to our God,
True to our native land.

Another Monday night...

A great leaf, that God and you and I/ have covered with writing/ turns now, overhead, in strange hands.

I anticipate their questions --

Why did you leave?
Why did you stay away?

Why do you want to come back?

I had to leave. I needed air. I needed to heal. I lived, breathed, ate, drank, swam in teaching. Three thousand miles from home, living in a small apartment with three other teachers, the classroom kept me sane and drove me crazy. It was an oxygen mask and a pillow over my face. I was exhausted.

I left to come home - to return to a coast and a mindset that made sense. I left to be with family and friends who knew me. I left because as much as I loved it, as much as I loved them, I felt spent and depleted. My batteries needed to be recharged.

I never meant to stay away so long. I almost came back, but I wasn't quite ready. The scars were still too pink, and the memories were a little to raw. My thoughts were of the hours, the planning, the grading, and the discipline. So I picked another road - a familiar one. I returned to the place that had filled me with the desire and the passion that fueled my teaching in the first place. It was a job that could be left in an office - with tasks that could wait until morning. I found other ways to fill my evenings. And I wrote...but not about planning, or grading, or discipline. Instead, the stories that poured onto the pages and filled notebooks were about the laughter, and the lightbulbs, and the joy. The flood of memories told the story of second grade magic.

So, I'm coming back because I want to come back. I'm coming back with a balanced understanding of the challenges and the rewards. I recognize my responsibilities to my students and to myself - we'll all be happier if I don't live, breathe, eat, and drink my job. Most importantly, I come back knowing that this is what I'm meant to do, whether in a little town that feels more like home than anyplace I've been in my adult life, or the city I never wanted to live in until I left...even on the days that end in tears.